our silence listens to us. spoiled by our frequent suffocation. the miles wear our ambivalence. skins stretched taut against the perjury of want.
time tightens its grip. we run in circles on the tethers of our hearts.
flesh shrugs off its staircase. and we are stranded at the bottom.
the journey is more execution than experience. a long series of small cuts. building to something deeper.
we make our creases in each other.
we do the math with borrowed numbers. stealing what we can.
skinning our wolves slowly as the fairy tale forgets.
Wednesday
6/15/2022 11:30:00 PM
| Life Poems |